The Battle of the Hammer Worlds hw-2 Read online

  He stopped. Michael was no longer listening.

  Michael had passed out, a small smile on his face.

  Michael was desperately frightened, afraid that it had all been a dream, that he would wake up to see the grimy, plascrete wall of a DocSec cell. He was so afraid, his eyes had been screwed shut ever since he had woken up. Trembling, he forced himself to open his eyes. If it had all been a dream, he could close them again and pretend he was back among friends.

  It was not a dream. It was not a DocSec cell. It was the wooden hut. With a sudden burst of energy, Michael dragged himself upright, ignoring the protests from his battered ribs. The instant he did, he wished he had not been so eager. Head spinning and heart racing, he felt like throwing up.

  “Oh, shit,” he muttered. Christ, he felt weak as piss. Closing his eyes, he lay back. After a minute or two he felt better, and he reopened his eyes to see where he had ended up. The place was spartan but immaculately clean. Eight beds in two rows, all empty apart from his. A couple of tables, two chairs, a desk. Toward the back, a screened area, cupboards, and a partitioned-off area-obviously the heads, Michael thought. The hut had small windows-no curtains-looking out onto a gloomy, snow-riven day. Day? For a moment he was confused. According to his neuronics, it was almost midnight. Then he remembered Commitment and its fortynine-hour days. Local planetary time was actually early afternoon.

  The hut’s inner door opened with a bang; Michael jumped. A tall, lanky, sandy-haired man in a badly worn Fed shipsuit underneath a bulky cold-weather jacket hustled in, brushing off the fresh snow that powdered his shoulders. He smiled to see Michael sitting up.

  “Oh, hello, sir! Remember me?”

  Michael shook his head. “Sorry, Leader,” he croaked. “I don’t.” His throat was sore, and his voice sounded like gravel being crushed.

  “That’s all right. Leading Spacer Kostas, part-time officer in charge, Camp I-2355 hospital, also known as Hut 10.”

  “Nice to meet you, Leading Spacer Kostas.”

  “You, too, sir. Notice anything different?”

  Michael could not think of anything. His head was all mush. He shook his head.

  “You’re talking! You couldn’t do that twelve hours ago.” Kostas looked pleased. “We got the camp doctor to fix you up. Not a bad bloke for a Hammer.”

  “Bugger me,” Michael croaked. “You know what? I’d bloody well forgotten. Christ, it’s good to be able to talk again, I can tell you. That little stunt of theirs is scary. Like suffocating in slow motion.”

  “Bastards.” Kostas spoke with quiet anger. “One day, one day. Right! Enough of that. Now, my orders are to keep you in bed until tomorrow. So do I have to chain you up, or can you do that?”

  Michael laughed. He felt good, better in fact than he had for a long time. Common sense told him that any attempt to walk would have him measuring his length on the floor, so he was not going to try. “No. I’m not going anywhere,” Michael said awkwardly, “but I really do need to take a piss.”

  “Uh, okay. One piss bottle coming up.”

  “Make sure the bugger’s warm, Leader, and big.”

  Theatrically, Kostas rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “God help me. I’ve got a delusional smart-ass for a patient. .” A long pause followed. “Sir.”

  Michael laughed. His body was a battered mass of cuts, bruises, and raw pain, but he felt good. This might be a prison camp, but it was Ishaq’s prison camp and he was with Ishaq’s people. Compared with where he had come from, it was more than good enough.

  Monday, September 27, 2399, UD

  HWS Quebec-One, East Yuan Reef

  “Dropping, sir.”

  With the usual stomach-turning lurch, Quebec-One, now masquerading as the mership Marta Jacovitz, dropped out of pinchspace precisely into the center of the drop zone for the transit across East Yuan Reef. Its hull flared from gray to yellow and purple and back again in the flash of its brilliant orange anticollision strobes.

  Commodore Monroe nodded in satisfaction as the ship’s sensor team quickly rebuilt the command and threat plots, the holovids in front of him painting the thin spread of green vectors tracking the few merships crossing the East Yuan. Two red vectors marked the positions of two FedWorld Skipjack class light cruisers, the Seadevil and the Nautilus. Monroe’s pulse sped up a bit as he watched. He could not help himself. The Seadevil and the Nautilus might be two of the oldest warships in the Fed’s order of battle, but they were still a force to be reckoned with. One of their sister ships, the Bonito, had given his ship, the heavy escort Jaguar, a hell of a mauling at the Battle of Cord’s Deep the last time around, a mauling he had been lucky to survive. Still bitter, he remembered the many who had not.

  The Seadevil’s officer in command appeared on the command holovid, the flat tones of his heavily accented Standard English interrupting his thoughts. The man in the gray shipsuit looked bored; he sounded bored.

  “Merroneth system mership Marta Jacovitz, this is the FedWorld Warship Seadevil. Good morning. Chop vidcomm channel 67. Over.”

  “Seadevil, Marta Jacovitz. Roger. Going to 67. Out.”

  Monroe braced himself. If they wanted to board and search, Quebec-One’s captain had only seconds to alter vector away from the East Yuan to jump into the safety of pinchspace before a rail-gun salvo took them out. With one eye on the plot, Monroe watched as the duty officer in command ran through the formalities with Seadevil as the ship’s false registration details squirted by laser tightbeam across to the Fed warship.

  The Seadevil obviously was not in the mood to worry about a ratty tramp ship from some obscure system out galactic west. With an offhand good-bye, Monroe’s ship was dismissed. “Enjoy the day while you can, my Fed friends,” Monroe muttered, “because things are about to get a whole lot worse.”

  Monroe turned back to the command plot. Leaving the drop zone and heading across the reef ahead of them was a FedWorld mership, Liberty of Man. Monroe snorted. Liberty of Man!Watch this space, you Fed pigs, because any minute now Quebec-One will be taking a few liberties of her own, he thought.

  “Commodore, sir?”

  It was Quebec-One’s captain, a depressingly younglooking lieutenant commander. The man made him feel a million years old. “Yes, Captain?”

  “On vector, sir. Target positively identified as the Fed mership Liberty of Man. Closing on target at 1,000 meters per second. Rail guns have a valid firing solution. I intend to fire as soon as we are clear of the reef.”

  Monroe smiled as he stood up. It always felt good to send another shipload of Feds to the damnation of Kraa. “Roger that. I’ll be in my cabin. Call me thirty minutes before we leave the East Yuan.”

  “Sir.”

  The captain of the Liberty of Man yawned. It had been a dull trip so far. Sadly, he had more of the same to look forward to. He yawned again as the navigation plot ran off the seconds until their next jump. Once safely in pinchspace, he would do his daily walk around the ship in an attempt to find out what his first officer-the laziest and most dishonest spacer he had worked with in over thirty years as a mership officer-had been up to behind his back.

  He did not get the chance. A single tightly grouped rail-gun salvo from the Merroneth system mership that had been behind them all the way from the Delfin Confederation 200 light-years back ripped into the Liberty of Man’s hull.

  The Liberty of Man’s captain did not have time to think before the massive fusion plants powering his main engines lost containment, vaporizing his ship into a huge ball of incandescent gas. Cursing, the officer in command of the Seadevil belatedly sent the ship to general quarters, but it was much too late.

  Quebec-One had jumped into pinchspace, with only a fading flash of ultraviolet left to mark her presence.

  Tuesday, September 28, 2399, UD

  Camp I-2355, Branxton Mountains, Commitment

  With infinite care, Michael swung his feet out of the bed and onto the floor. After a struggle, he was on his feet, swaying from side to side
.

  Watching anxiously, Leading Spacer Kostas stood back, but Michael had told him in no uncertain terms that he was going to the head under his own steam and nothing short of a direct order from the president herself was going to stop him. He still ached all over, and the nagging, stabbing pain from his repeatedly broken cheek and grossly abused ribs was a constant reminder of his time with DocSec. Not that he needed much reminding. The memories of that awful time would stay with him as long as he lived.

  Michael took a deep breath before shuffling off in a swaying drunkard’s walk. Even if he had to crawl, he told himself sternly, he was going to use a proper toilet instead of one of Leading Spacer Kostas’s damned bottles. After that, he was going to have a decent shower, and then he was going to put on the clean shipsuit procured by Kostas from God knew where. Once that was all done, he would be ready for anything, including Fellsworth.

  Twenty minutes later, refreshed in both mind and body, Michael sat in bed waiting as Fellsworth arrived. The door banged open as she barged her way in out of the blizzard raging outside.

  It was good to see her. Pulling up a chair, Fellsworth sat down next to Michael’s bed. She looked at him for a moment, smiling.

  “How do you feel, spacer?”

  Michael took a long time to answer. He stared at her. “Well, sir, not the best, I have to say. I, er. .” He stammered to a halt, unable to speak.

  Fellsworth waited patiently. It was not like she had anything more important to do, after all. The boy-and he was only a boy, for God’s sake-looked awful, and it was not just the physical injuries so shockingly on display. There was something about his eyes that was hard to describe, a desperate emptiness that spoke of the horrors he had been through more than the man himself ever could.

  “It’s been a bit rough, you know,” Michael said after a while.

  “I think I do. Do you want to tell me about it or leave that for another time?”

  “Got a better idea, sir. I put my neuronics to full recording whenever. . whenever the Hammers started anything. I would like to dump the complete data file across to you.”

  Fellsworth blinked in surprise. She had never known anyone willingly give another human the window right into the soul that full neuronics recordings provided. Well, apart from pornovid stars, of course, but they did it because it made them money, lots of it. If she downloaded the data file into a virtsim machine, she would be able to go through exactly what Michael had gone through, every last excruciating second of it. If she wanted to? She was damn sure she did not.

  “You really want to do that?” she asked dubiously. “You don’t have to, you know. You’ve got time to edit your recordings back to the key facts we’ll need if we ever get to prosecute the Hammers responsible.”

  Michael shook his head. “No, sir,” he said firmly. “I don’t think I could, anyway. I don’t think I’ll ever look at the file again. In fact, I’ll probably delete it. So please, take it.”

  “Fine, as long as you’re sure. I’ll archive it with two or three other people to be safe. It’ll be locked. That okay?”

  “That’s fine, sir. I would love to think that we can use it one day, but-”

  Fellsworth’s hand on his arm stopped him dead. “Michael! You listen to me. We are getting out of here one way or another. You can trust me on that. Still got your escape kits?”

  Michael nodded. Despite all the attention he had gotten from DocSec, the little kits patched to his skin were intact.

  “Good. We’ve all got ours, and suffice it to say there’s no damn Hammer prison that can keep 283 Fed spacers armed with their escape kits locked up. Right? You sure?”

  Michael nodded. He was.

  “Okay. Let’s do the transfer.”

  Tuesday, October 5, 2399, UD

  Camp I-2355, Branxton Mountains, Commitment

  Paralyzed by an uneasy mix of confusion, doubt, and fear, Michael started as Fellsworth’s voice shattered the long silence.

  “So, to sum up: We’re leaving. Those of you who thought we would simply sit here waiting for the Hammer to decide what they would do with us, think again. We’re leaving, and that’s a direct order. By the end of next month, we will be out of here. It will not be easy, but I don’t think I have to remind you we have a duty to escape, and it is a duty that I as senior officer intend to see honored. Now, before I distribute the draft work plan, are there any questions?”

  Michael watched Fellsworth closely as she scanned the hut. It was packed tight; apart from the sentries posted to keep an eye on the guards, every one of the survivors from the Ishaq was there. The silence was long and drawn out; the group was struggling to come to terms with the bombshell Fellsworth had dropped on them. Michael could hardly believe it, and judging by the stunned-mullet looks on the faces of all the spacers present, everyone else was having the same trouble.

  Chief Ichiro got to her feet. “Sir?”

  “Yes, Chief?”

  “Not a question, sir. Just to say that I don’t think I’ve heard anything quite so good in a long time. I can’t speak for anyone else here, but the end of November can’t come soon enough,” Ichiro declared emphatically.

  The instant she sat down, the hut erupted into a storm of cheering, stamping, and clapping. The sudden wave of optimism and commitment from every spacer present was almost overwhelming.

  No, hang on, Michael thought, not every spacer. Hashemian, up at the front of the hut alongside Fellsworth, stayed seated, his face wooden. Damn, Michael thought, what is he up to? He looked around. Hashemian was not the only one. Xing and a small group off to one side sat unmoved and unmoving. This is not good, Michael said to himself. Hashemian was Fellsworth’s second in command; his duty to support his senior officer was as clear as his implied insubordination was unmistakable. Michael wondered if Fellsworth had even noticed.

  Eventually the hut settled down. Fellsworth, face flushed with emotion, cleared her throat.

  “Thanks for those kind words, Chief. The check is in the mail,” she said drily.

  “No problem, sir,” Ichiro shot back as the hut erupted again, this time in laughter.

  “Anyway, let’s move on. I’ll get a draft work plan to all of you today. Actually, it’s more a list of who’s in what team, an outline of what each team’s objectives are plus the arrangements for progress reviews, and so on. When you get it, please go through it carefully. Any problems, talk to your team leader in the first instance. Team leaders can talk to me at any time. Right, that’s it. Officers and senior spacers, stand fast; all the rest back to work.”

  Fellsworth waited patiently as the hut cleared. When the door closed behind the last spacer, she waved everyone into a circle.

  “Right, folks. First, let me welcome Michael to the group. Sorry you weren’t kept in the loop, but I wanted you to concentrate on getting better.”

  “No problem, sir. I’m fine now. Point me in the right direction and tell me what needs doing.”

  “Good,” Fellsworth said briskly. “Now-”

  “One second, Karla.” Hashemian’s hand went up to stop her.

  Fellsworth frowned at the interruption, or was it Hashemian’s failure to call her “sir” as tradition and her position dictated he should? Michael could not work out which it was as she waved at Hashemian to continue.

  “I am going to say it again,” Hashemian continued. “This escape plan of yours is madness, and I cannot go along with it. I cannot allow you to risk our lives in some harebrained scheme that will never work. More to the point,” he added menacingly, “I know I am not the only one here who thinks so.”

  Oh, shit, Michael thought. He was no lower-deck lawyer, but this smelled horribly like mutiny.

  Fellsworth looked at Hashemian levelly for a long time before leaning forward to look the man full in the face.

  “I know what you think, Max. I know because we have discussed your objections at great length. I have taken those objections into account, but my decision still stands. You know that, too. So
when the time comes to leave I-2355, we all leave. That is an order, a direct order from me as your lawful superior. Now,” she said quietly, “which part of my direct order do you not understand?”

  “Karla, please”-Fellsworth’s lips tightened at the deliberate insult, but she said nothing-“do me a favor. We’re caught up in some crazy Hammer scheme, but we are not at war. There’s no reason to risk my life or anyone else’s. We need to be patient, and we’ll get home. It may take some time, but I’m confident that it will happen. So let’s forget the direct orders, shall we?”

  “Fine,” Fellsworth said icily. “I’ll take that as a no. Who else agrees with Lieutenant Commander Hashemian?”

  Lieutenant Xing broke the long silence. “I do, sir. I’m with Lieutenant Commander Hashemian. I’m not going to be part of this scheme. It’s madness, so count me out. I won’t be part of it.”

  Hashemian nodded. Michael thought his air of self-righteous satisfaction was probably a bit premature.

  “Noted, Lieutenant Xing. I think you’ve made yourself perfectly clear. Anyone else?”

  Two hands went up: an ordnance warrant officer and a comm chief; Michael didn’t know either of them, but he was surprised. In his experience, admittedly limited, noncommissioned officers had a finely developed sense of self-preservation.

  Fellsworth nodded. “So, Max, there are four of you. Have you discussed this among yourselves? I ask only because it helps me know that you’ve really thought this through,” she inquired in a tone of such utter sincerity that Michael was fooled, but only for a second. He watched in amazement as Hashemian walked straight into the trap Fellsworth had set, dragging his fellow mutineers with him.

  “Yes, of course, Karla,” Hashemian said impatiently. “I would not want to go off half-cocked on something as important as this.”